Four things that never happened to Vislor Turlough
by SithelfJen
Summary: Four things that never happened to Vislor Turlough


Four Things That Never Happened To Vislor Turlough

by: SithelfJen

A huge thanks with chocolates and ginger kisses to vandonovan for beta reading.

Disclaimers: All hail the BBC for producing Doctor Who.

Archive: Sure, just let me know so I can visit.

Feedback is always welcome!

1) The Pit

"On your feet you Trion scum!" the guard shouted, throwing open the prison door. "Time to earn your keep."

Visor Turlough was silent as he and his fellow Trions were marched to the mine entrance. He tried to ignore the slag heaps, the polluted sky, the guard towers and guns and the overwhelming sense of despair that hung in the air.

Turlough shut is his eyes has he entered the elevator and felt his ears pop as the elevator quickly dropped to the bottom of the mine shaft. He started coughing as he stepped out of the elevator because the air was heavy with dust and chemicals. He glared sullenly at the guards wearing respirators then looked away quickly, not wishing to draw attention to himself. Turlough had learned quickly that drawing attention to one's self was an invitation to a brutal beating, or worse.

Turlough half listened as a guard read out the work assignments until he realized that he was standing alone. Only years of training prevented the fear from showing on his face. Not even in this place would he let his mask break; to do so would admit defeat.

"Prisoner 4673. Got a special task for you: you're going into the Pit today." The guard watched the prisoner closely waiting for a reaction. Most prisoners would beg and plead for another assignment upon learning they were going to the Pit. No one ever came back from the Pit. This Trion gave him a look barely concealed contempt. Suddenly enraged at the lack of response the guard lashed out, knocking the Trion to the rocky ground and kicked him several times, grunting in satisfaction when he heard a faint whimper of pain. He grabbed a handful of dirty red hair and dragged Turlough the elevator and threw him in. "Better not come back scum, otherwise I'll kill you myself."

Turlough coughed and spat up blood as he slowly dragged himself out of the elevator. He found a discarded light stick and shook it vigorously until it produced a feeble light and looked around. He was in a small chamber and he counted six separate tunnels that branched off from this chamber. Picking one at random, he started to walk.

Ten minutes later he tripped over his first body. An hour later he lost count. Occasionally he would stop and read the messages that had been inscribed on the walls in Trion blood. Names, messages to love ones long dead, a prayer for the dead, a plea for help. He idly wondered what future explorers would make of the messages and dead bodies, then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

Turlough cried out has he tripped over another rock and fell to the ground with a hard thud. Months of meager food, non-existent medical attention, slave labor and the growing pain in his ribs and head had taken its toll on the young man.

Turlough staggered over to the wall and using his own blood, painfully spelled out his name. He sat down and closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to fall.

2/4

The Ring

"Stop fidgeting." Tegan hissed at Turlough. The young Australian was wearing a stunning navy blue floor length strapless gown with matching shoes and she was holding a lovely bouquet of assorted roses. She was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"I'm not fidgeting." Turlough hissed back, monetary stilling. A second later he started shifting his weight from one foot to another again. Turlough was dressed in a black tuxedo with a distinct military cut with a gold sash hanging over his right shoulder. He had flatly refused to wear a corsage much to Tegan's disappointment. "You're enjoying every minute of this aren't you?"

"It's not every day my best friend gets married." Tegan replied with a smile, her ears picking up the opening notes to the 'Marriage to Figaro'. "Ah. Here they come."

The Doctor slowly walked down the aisle. He was wearing a classic black tuxedo with tails, a crisp white shirt, a red corsage, and a blue cummerbund and tie that matched his eyes. Tegan hummed in appreciation and the Doctor winked at her. However, it was the young lady walking demurely next to the Doctor that took Turlough's breath away.

Nyssa was wearing a strapless A-line silk wedding gown with sweetheart neckline trimmed in gold with a long train. Her wispy veil was anchored by her curly hair by a small diamond tiara, and she was holding a stunning bouquet of stargazer lilies. She looked at Turlough and a faint blush came over her cheeks. The couple stopped in front of Tegan and Turlough and the Doctor raised Nyssa's veil and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Turlough's hand was slightly shaking as he took Nyssa's hand in his own.

The Doctor cleared his throat and started, "Today we are here to witness the union of Nyssa of Traken and Visor Turlough of Trion..."

3/4

Torchwood

With the pomp and circumstances finally over, Turlough gratefully shrugged of his formal cap and gown and tossed the offending articles onto his small bed. Earlier in the afternoon, he had received his PhD with honors in Physics from Durham University, near Newcastle upon Tyne. The graduation ceremony had been typical of Earth: long and boring.

He kicked off his shoes and sat down in the only chair in the room and stared out the window, wondering what he was going to do with his life now that he was finally finished university. His solicitor (AKA jailer) had made it very clear to him eight years ago, the last time he had summoned Turlough to his office in London that there was no escape. The man had been very blunt about his request to return home.

"The provisional government refused to rescind your exile. You are stuck here until you die."

Two weeks later, his solicitor "died" under mysterious circumstances, leaving Turlough with just enough money to finish his university education and no way of contacting Trion. So Vislor Turlough did the only thing he could; he survived. He went to university and majored in physics, making sure he never displayed too much knowledge because he had the uncanny feeling that he was being watched.

Feeling hungry, he went into the kitchen and heated up some left over chicken curry and grabbed the last beer in the fridge. He read his mail while he ate his supper. The mail was largely uninspiring: an invite to spend the weekend with Hippo Ibbotson and his growing family, a bill from the university for his tutoring fees, two polite rejection letters from private research labs.

He frowned as he opened the last envelope, fingering the embossed royal seal of Queen Elizabeth the Second on the letterhead. What on earth was the Torchwood Insitute?

4/4

Disarm

"You must be mad." Turlough exclaimed after listening to the Black Guardian's offer. "If you think I'm going to agree to your mad scheme, think again."

"What?" The Black Guardian was clearly taken back by the Trion's refusal.

"I know your type: I do your dirty work then you cut and run, leaving me to face the music. That's how I got exiled to this horrible planet in the first place!" Turlough spat out bitterly. "If I kill this renegade TimeLord, this Doctor for you, I'll be signing my own death warrant. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

"How dare you defy me, you insolent worm!" the Black Guardian roared, his body shaking with suppressed rage. "You will regret this boy!" There was blinding flash and Turlough's world went dark.

Turlough moaned as he tried opened his eyes and cried in agony as he tried to move.

"Don't move. Your right arm is broken and you've taken a nasty knock to the head,"an unfamiliar voice said gently.

Turlough managed to open his eyes, trying to blink the blood away. Kneeling next to him was fair headed man, wearing a fawn colored coat. Oddly enough there was a sprig of celery was pinned to his coat lapel. Turlough read the concern in the man's blue eyes and in the distance he heard sirens.

"Who are you?" Turlough slurred letting his eyes close. His head was starting to pound like a drum and his arm felt like it was on fire.

"I'm called the Doctor--"

"The Doctor?" Turlough exclaimed, his eyes flying open, monetary forgetting his headache and the pain in his arm. "He wants to kill you!"

"Who?" The Doctor replied with a puzzled frown.

"The Black Guardian. He wants-- he wants you dead. Wanted me to do it but I said no." Turlough mumbled letting his eyes shut again, feeling a surge of weight lift off his shoulders. With firmer conviction, he repeated, "I said no."

end


End file.
